There is Hope!

Good news is spreading in my sleepy college town in Southeast PA. Not blaring reports broadcast through a megaphone, but the kind of news that finds its way into phone conversations and texts with friends and permeates the atmosphere with a sense that positive change is on the way. Things are going to be better.

Even the weather promoted a sense of well-being. On this day, early morning haze vanished as the sunlight broke through. At 10:30 AM it was 72 degrees with 58% humidity—pleasant conditions for this often steamy corner of the state.

My morning walk at a nearby park was delightful. Some people weren’t wearing masks, and this normally disturbs me, but I simply kept mine in place and politely stepped off the trail for those coming straight toward me. The huffers, aka joggers who spew  breath everywhere, often stayed in the middle of the paved path. That was ok on this day. I didn’t mind moving aside into the shade as they passed, …. for hope was in the air.

You see, the Democratic National Convention was launched last night—a dignified and encouraging event. It was a mid-pandemic occasion that will surely go down in history, along with so many things these days. In place of balloons and banners, rousing applause and the hoopla that in previous years likened the affair to a championship football game, tech gurus worked their magic quietly behind the scenes. Citizens watched from the comfort of their homes.

Children sang en masse, at a distance from each other, perfectly coordinated and full of joy.  The invocation by Fr. James Martin, a prayer to “respect the dignity of all life,” provided a poignant backdrop for the opening sessions of the DNC 2020.  Speakers transitioned seamlessly, one to another, addressing the nation from their front yards, personal libraries, or living rooms. One even spoke as he stood at the juncture of two lanes, depicting the great divide in our nation today and his decision to take a new path and join the other side.

We heard messages of sorrow, disappointment, chaos, and grave warnings about further eroding of our democracy. Former first lady, Michelle Obama, shared truth and wisdom. She reminded viewers that we have given this man, #45, a chance to rise to the occasion, and he hasn’t! He cannot do the job, she continued. Former Republicans shared their stories of crossing over to support Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, to save our nation from further decline.

Yes, on this day, hope is in the air.

Last night we heard messages of compassion for everyday citizens and a compelling desire to bring our nation back together, a longing for the soul of our nation to be restored, stories of experience and leadership and character, teamwork, and yes, ….. love. Love for family, for our country, for our people of many colors and origins.

Indeed, there is new hope in this land. Please help pass on the good news!

 

 

To market, to market, to buy a fat …..

This is a tough one. They were sweet and docile lambs, without specific names because they had been designated as the ones to go to market. You see, my brave granddaughter is raising a flock of sheep, and in the process is learning both the joys and sacrifices of farm life.

For months she’s been arriving at the barn by 7 AM to feed and nurture her flock, clean out their pens, give them fresh water, and play with them, and then again in the afternoon. Every day. She’s learned to take temperatures and give medicines and to help her dad deliver babies, which arrived en masse from the Finn mothers who are known to be prolific. Some survived, others didn’t. That was an experience for all of us, especially for a fifteen-year-old young woman!

Then it was time for the summer market auction. As it turned out, raising farm animals was a costly undertaking, with feed to purchase, as well as milk supplements for the babies who were competing with their siblings for mama’s milk. Plus, there were  occasional visits from the veterinarian. Part of the arrangement from the onset had been to learn management and business skills and that meant…….sending two of the animals to market.

The auction was a quite an event! The young 4H members groomed their animals and  accompanied them in the show where they competed for ribbons. The next day they bravely escorted them onto the floor again for the sale and …. let them go.

It breaks my heart to think of it now, a few hours later, but also fills me with wonder and respect for the farm families of our communities. What they do is hard work that requires commitment, strength of character, and resilience. I applaud them all!

Post script – I also want to share the positive atmosphere and sense of caring among those at the auction

• one farm family for another
• friends who offered generous bids to support the effort
• those who made a purchase and then gave the animal back and donated the funds or turned the animal over for resale, supplying the tables of hungry families in the community
• those who took the animal home to their farms
• the many volunteers who worked at the auction
• and, most of all, the young people who made it all possible — emerging leaders in our communities. Without a doubt, we can count on them to do amazing things in the future!

Tragic Weekend

By all reports it should have been wonderful. The weatherman had predicted perfect summer weather, just right for a picnic in the park or kayak excursion on the lake. I had invited friends for dinner: the house was ready, shopping was complete except for garden veggies from the local farmer, and freshly baked oatmeal-nut bread was cooling on a rack.
The table was set with blue willow china, a gift from my mother, and I had even dusted and reorganized the shelves of the old corner cupboard. It has a beauty of its own and displays impractical but beloved items, such as a large crystal bowl given by a friend, a pair of tiny Blumenkinder figures purchased in Germany, and white china dessert plates edged in platinum. During the dusting process two of the delicate plates slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor. No worries…”I’ll just clean up the pieces. There are still four plates left and others stacked in a cubby in the kitchen.”
Then breaking news appeared on my phone. Another gun event, known as a m… s…, as if it should have a common name. How many times does it take? Proposed legislation that would help deter such violence gathers dust on desks in fancy offices while our elected leaders enjoy their summer leave. Shock and collective sadness, prayers, and conversation occur after each event, and yet nothing changes. Shortly after the first reported shooting, another occurred in a different city. Unbelievable!
How will history books record these times? I shudder to think of possible chapter headlines.
Mass shootings became commonplace, Americans killing Americans
Gun industry stocks rose at the expense of human life
Politicians were unable to act for the common good due to powerful special interest groups
USA became a dangerous place: freedom without responsibility
The possibilities go on, including Mental health crisis led to frequent mass killings or Violence in the media desensitized citizens.
My little dinner party took place as planned. Guests were jovial, telling stories of good old days and discussing the future. No mention was made of the tragedies that had occurred only hours before. Out of courtesy I let the conversation take its own path during the evening and we enjoyed our friendship! But underneath it all, we knew there were shattered families in sudden grief over lost loved ones, countless individuals suffering physical injuries and uncertain about the days ahead, communities torn apart, and an overwhelming sadness that this is where we are—here in the nation we call home.
I welcome your comments.

It has been a week…..

…..and I am thankful. Thankful that Election 2016 is behind us. For months we were bombarded with negative rhetoric and ugly visual ads. Facebook throbbed with new posts, one more outrageous than the last. Terms such as crook and misogyny became part of everyday vocabulary in reference to our soon-to-be chosen president. The focus was on criticism rather then optimism, negative findings of the past rather than creative ideas for the future, exclusion rather than inclusion. I don’t know about you, but I was sad about the whole process.

Finally November 8th arrived, and I had the privilege of working at the polls with a fine group of people. We arranged tables to accommodate voters efficiently, hung customary notices, reviewed our assignments, and began the day with a long line at the door. Smiles and cheerful greetings welcomed our neighbors as they arrived. One dear elderly lady carried out her civic duty with the help of a patient daughter, others had moved to another part of the community and needed directions to their new polling location, a kind restaurant owner delivered lunch and then hours later dinner. Quite a few voters brought children and teens,  and we welcomed them eagerly as young witnesses to the democratic process. First time voters received a round of applause and cheers, much to their surprise. Some of us worked from 6 AM until closing at 8 PM .

After a full day at the polls, I returned home to view the colorful map and hear the earliest results coming in from the East Coast. Like many, I was very surprised. Late evening stretched into night at which time the map was complete and it was clear that the ever-intensifying nightmare of the campaign season had culminated in a victory for one candidate. Unprecedented protests followed along with fascinating commentary and many questions. Will campaign promises be fulfilled? Did the public receive false impressions from postings on social media? How did mainstream leaders miss the cries of a mass of the population that evidently feels “left out”? What impact will the new president in the White House (or on 5th Avenue) have on European nations teetering on the brink of electing far right leaders?

Only time will tell, I suppose. I hope and pray that thoughtful consideration and wisdom will play a role. Now one week later, there is another question. Should I prepare my mother’s cranberry-orange gelatin salad or fresh whole berry sauce? This is a question I can handle. And it gives me much joy!

Have a Happy Thanksgiving!